Fragile
by Scarlett Barnes
Summary: Two years after Galbatorix's defeat, Nasuada and Murtagh must come to terms with what happened between them. (One-shot. Complete.)


**A/N: Okay... I know I have a whole lot of fics on my plate... BUT I was singing in a concert with this amazing guest soloist, who sang and played the guitar. And she did an absolutely incredible rendition of Sting's "Fragile", which was the inspiration for this piece.**

 **As I was sitting there listening to her sing this song, all I could think was... Murtagh and Nasuada. Now, I am not a huge fan of this ship, but I think I could have liked it a little more if CP had handled it the right way. Unfortunately, he did not, so here is my attempt. I hope you all enjoy. Listen to the song while you read, or after, or before, or whatever. Just... listen to it. Here is the version of the soloist from my concert: watch?v=XNCcRLd_3U8 (you know the deal, just paste that into Google, and the video will pop right up. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT put it into BING or some other search engine. It will pull up some weird Chinese video. I hate Bing...)**

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There came a flash of light, followed quickly by a crack of thunder that shook the very foundations of the castle. The room became suddenly visible through the deep blackness, but disappeared just as quickly. It was well past midnight, and the storm raged outside. But that was not why Nasuada, High Queen of Alagaësia, could not sleep. It felt like hours had passed since she'd wearily stumbled to her bed, when she knew it was not so. A _quarter_ of an hour, at most.

But still, rest would not find her. The day's trials weighed heavily on her mind, making it impossible for her eyes to close and sleep to overtake her. Instead, she kept playing over and over again in her mind the hellish day she'd had.

A report had come to her from Furnost, telling of a group of magic-users that had banded together to oppose her rule. In the two years since Nasuada had taken the throne, this was not an uncommon occurrence. There had been much outrage at her decree that all magic-users report to her newly formed Magician's Guild. And that outrage had led to a few minor skirmishes between the Guild and those rebel factions. Nothing she could not handle.

But today had been different.

The magicians, led by a man named Ansel, had sent a letter by way of a raven. The bird had been discovered in the rookery in the early morning hours, quorking away and pecking at some corn with the offending correspondence tired securely to its leg. Jörmundur had brought it immediately, a worried expression on in his face. She saw that the seal had already been broken.

"I am sorry, Your Majesty," he had said. Nasuada didn't understand. Her intense, dark eyes scanned the words on the parchment quickly, looking for demands of any kind. But what she found sent a different kind of fear spiking through her chest.

 _Traitor. Conspirer. Whore._

Those words cycled through her mind, floating in the dark and whispering their lies into her ears. The letter had blatantly accused of being a consort to Morzan's son, and a traitor to Alagaësia. They'd called her the second-coming of Galbatorix, minus one dragon. And they'd called her dictator... _a tyrant._ But what had worried her the most were their implications of her... _relationship_ with Murtagh.

Of course they wouldn't know the real story. But what gave them the idea in the first place? She had been so careful with her words, and her reactions whenever anyone mentioned his name or asked after his whereabouts. She did not even understand her own feelings towards him. Where had she gone wrong? Was there a spy somewhere inside the castle?

The torrent of questions suddenly became too much, and Nasuada threw back her covers, jumping out of the bed and fumbling around in the dark until she could light the candle. Its soft, orange glow lit up the space in front of her, though it didn't permeate the blackness that covered the rest of her room. Her eyes must have been playing tricks on her, for she thought she saw the shadows beyond her candle shifting around in the dark.

 _Creeeaaaaak._

Her blood froze to ice in her veins and every nerve was set on edge. It was the unmistakable sound of a door opening, just beyond her room in the parlor. Quickly, Nasuada ran back to her bed and shoved a hand beneath her pillow, wrapping her slender fingers around the hilt of the dagger she kept there. Slowly, she turned back towards the door of her room, and waited. Her breathing was steady, but her heart was racing. Another moment passed by and she knew it couldn't have been her maid. If it was, the girl would have entered the room already.

At any moment, she expected Elva to come bursting in from the antechamber. But another minute passed by, and the girl did not come to her. Who could this be? Nasuada stepped lightly over the carpeted stone floor, keeping her steps even and slow so as to make as little noise as possible. Her dagger held firmly in hand, she reached for the door handle and turned it slowly, gritting her teeth when it groaned in protest. Her patience wore thin, and she decided to just throw the door open. Maybe it would catch this intruder by surprise.

As soon as the door was fully open, Nasuada saw the figure standing right over the threshold, but his features were still shrouded in darkness. The force of the door swinging open sent a draft to blow out her tiny flame, but that did not give her cause to hesitate. The arm holding the dagger aloft came down in a wide arc, aiming for the heart. But it was quickly stopped by the intruder's own hand, while the other flew at her face and clamped over her mouth. She tried to let out a scream, but the hand muffled any sound she might make. Whoever this man was―for she could tell now it was, in fact, a man―he was vastly stronger than herself.

"Don't scream," the gruff voice commanded her. At those words, her heart ceased to beat for a fraction of a second. She would know that voice anywhere. After she'd heard it inside her head so many times, she would never forget it.

Slowly, the hand came away from her face. But she had no intention of screaming now. "Murtagh," she breathed quietly, feeling her arm go limp where he still held it above her. Her eyes were beginning to adjust to the dark, and she could just make out the sharp line of his jaw; the grim set of his mouth; the glint of his grey eyes. He quickly dropped her arm once he realized, and then took a step back. Now she understood why Elva had not rushed to warn her of the intruder. "What are you doing here? You cannot be here, not now..." She let this final statement fade away into nothingness.

"I... I had to see you," he replied slowly. Tentatively, the Red Rider cleared his throat and cast his eyes on the floor. The shifting of the moonlight which filtered through the window cast shadow's upon his handsome face, marring his features and giving him an incredibly sad look. "Can we talk? I won't stay long."

Against her better judgment, Nasuada nodded slightly and gestured for him to turn back toward the parlor. She didn't want to wake Elva, if the girl was asleep at all. Murtagh hesitated only slightly, but then finally did as she suggested and went to the hearth where there were a few chairs arranged facing one another. He extended a hand to the empty hearth, and whispered, "Brisingr," immediately setting the dry kindling aflame with red and gold fire, and filling the room with light.

Nasuada joined him after donning a robe, having faced her supposed attacker still in her shift. That, and the heat from the fire, served to warm her considerably. It was late autumn, and the storm had cast a chill upon the entire castle.

Murtagh was already seated in one of the high-backed chairs, perching on the very edge of the seat and nervously bouncing his leg. He watched the queen as she took a seat across from him, in the chair furthest away. She kept her spine straight and slightly away from the back of the chair, the way she did when receiving guests in the throne room.

"What is it you wanted to speak to me about?" she questioned, not unkindly. He had to have some motive for coming here and risking his—and presumably Thorn's—safety. But what that motivation was... she didn't dare to think.

His eyes flicked up at her, sending a pang coursing through her chest. She was not afraid... no, she was nervous. "I think you know," he said quietly. "The letter which came today—"

"How do you know about that?" she suddenly snapped, cutting him off mid-sentence. She had suspected this for some time, but now she needed to hear it from his own lips.

"I have informants placed in the castle," he explained without hesitation. "They report to me on any shifts in the political climate, and they assure me of your safety." She sucked in her breath slightly, her mind racing to try and figure out who these friendly spies might be. The list of potential candidates was a long one indeed.

"That does little to instill any confidence I have in the security of my castle," she remarked with a slight smirk, and she was rewarded with the spark of light that made its way into his eyes. "If you do, indeed, have informants within the castle, then you must know how dangerous it is for you to be here. How did you get in? I need to know if my security must be tightened."

"You needn't concern yourself with that," he said. "The only other person in this world who could do what I did to get in here is Eragon, and I don't believe he harbors any ill will towards you." Her curiosity was piqued, but she let it lie. It didn't really matter how he got in, only that he was here.

"So be it, I am mollified. Now, you'd better get on with explaining yourself," she quipped back. His face fell only slightly, and he tucked his head against his chest so that his long hair fell in front of his face, concealing whatever emotions were raging within. Silence reigned over the pair of them for a while, but Nasuada was content to sit, and wait.

Finally, he spoke. "I don't feel like we ever got the chance to speak about what happened between us," he began slowly. Nasuada felt her pulse quicken, but she made no move to interrupt. Whatever he needed to say, she would let him say it. "Everything happened so quickly, and then... then we left. It's been two years, and I don't think either of us are anywhere near ready to return; nor do I think the people will be any more welcoming than before. But I think I am ready to talk about it." The way his voice broke on the word "it" caused Nasuada to feel some empathy towards him. She could understand how he felt; she'd wrestled with the very same thoughts herself over the last two years.

But still... she wanted to hear him _say_ it. He never had, through the entirety of her captivity under Galbatorix. She'd even asked him straight out, but his answer had been cryptic, as his answers always were. "You are ready to talk about _it,_ " she said pointedly, "and yet you do not even have the courage to give name to it."

He looked up at her sharply at that, a hardened edge to his eyes. Her gaze remained as steadfast and resolute as ever. They were quiet for a very long time, the pattering of the rain upon the window the only sound. Finally, Murtagh sighed heavily and averted his gaze. She thought she could just glimpse some emotion there... was it _shame?_

"You're right," he said. "I have been a coward. I love you Nasuada... But—" and he paused here, causing Nasuada to suck in her breath ever so slightly "—I don't believe I am _in_ love with you." Time seemed to stop in that instant. Had she heard him right? What could he possibly mean by that?

Before she even knew what she was doing, Nasuada was on her feet and walking slowly towards the window. The heat from the fire had suddenly become stifling, and she needed some air. With trembling fingers, she unhooked the latch and swung the window outward, allowing little droplets of water to come inside and splash upon the window sill.

"Please don't misunderstand me," he continued, and she noticed he was standing too. The cool, night air washed over her, shifting her robe and nightgown, and sending goosebumps all over her skin. "It's taken me this long to understand it myself..."

"Then explain it to me," she said very softly. She was not angry... No, it was something else; some feeling she could not place. Nasuada turned away from the window and saw him standing before her. When had he got there? Had she really allowed her emotions to overrun her so completely that she lost all sense of awareness?

He looked away momentarily, weighing his words. She could tell this was not easy, so she did not push him unnecessarily; if he didn't intend to tell her, he wouldn't have come all this way and risked the safety of himself and his dragon. "It is difficult to explain," he began. "When Galbatorix kidnapped you, and forced me to torture you, I was in a terrible place. You know this." Nasuada shifted uncomfortably at the mention of those most-hated memories that plagued her nightmares. But she nodded all the same.

"I remember," she whispered hoarsely.

"I saw in you," he continued, "the strength that I did not have. It would be a terrible falsehood to say that I did not enjoy, to some degree, the powers that Galbatorix bestowed on me. But for all the power he gave me, I still answered to him in every way. He made me do things; _terrible_ things that I don't think I can ever atone for. I was able to resist him in very small ways, like healing you and helping you to shield against his tricks. But I could not disobey him outright... not until I saw how you resisted him; how you stood against him.

"Until the very end, you remained strong, Nasuada. And you helped me to be strong... you helped me _understand_ what it is to put someone else first, besides Thorn. For that, I will always love you, and I will always be grateful. If it weren't for you, Thorn and I likely would not be here." He stopped for a split second, and then came forward, until they stood mere inches apart. Nasuada looked up at him, inspecting his face and feeling the tears brim in her own eyes. What was this emotion she was feeling? There were too many thoughts coursing through her head to make sense of it.

"I think," he said quietly, tentatively raising a hand to place upon her cheek, "that given the proper amount of time, and the proper circumstances, I would come to love you the way I wish I could; the way you deserve to be loved. I know I could spend my life with you, Nasuada, and I would be happy. I hope that I could make you happy too, but given our history and the circumstances..."

"It cannot be," she finished for him. Finally, she placed the emotion which threatened to spill forth from her eyes. It was _relief_. Finally... _finally_ , she could sort out her thoughts from her emotions and really get down to the heart of what she felt for Murtagh. It was love, to be sure; but a different love than the one shared between her mother and father. Theirs had been a love of passion and a desperate need for one another. But, with Murtagh... "You will remember, what I told you in the cells? I cannot forgive, but I understand. That statement still holds true, Murtagh. There are... too many painful memories."

"I know. And I am sorry for that every day," he said quickly. "If I could go back and change it, knowing what I know now, I would in an instant."

"You would sacrifice your relationship with Thorn as his Rider?" she questioned pointedly. "For that would be the only way to undo what has been done. No..." She took his hand away from her face and held it firmly in her grasp. "Things happened the way they were supposed to, Murtagh. For whatever reason, the gods decided our fate, and we are left here. I think, too, that I would have been happy with you, had we met under a different star."

A sad sort of smile made its way to his face, and he looked down at their hands where they were clasped. "Thank you," he whispered. Suddenly, he grew stiff and his eyes took on a glazed appearance, as though his mind was far away from his body. Nasuada knew he was conversing with Thorn, and if the furrowing of his brow was any indication, it did not look like good news.

"What is it?" she asked quietly when he shook his head and his gaze returned to her.

"Thorn was found by some guards," he explained quickly. "He stunned them, but I must go quickly, to take their memories before word of us spreads over the entire city. I am sorry if I have caused you trouble, Nasuada."

"No, don't be," she said, smiling sadly. "I am glad you came. To be honest, I was not certain of my own feelings. But I understand now."

"If you ever need my help," he said slowly, reaching around behind him to a pack that was slung over his shoulder, "do not hesitate to ask, for whatever reason." He produced a small, plain-looking hand-mirror. She knew it had been enchanted, so that they could scry one another if need be. With a small nod of thanks, she took the mirror from him.

She would never know what came over her next, but something in her heart told her she needed to do this, for the both of them. Perhaps it was as a sort of closure; only the gods knew when they would see one another again, if they ever did. And by then it might be too late. She had to do it now... or she never would.

And so, very slowly, Nasuada leaned forward, never taking her dark eyes off his surprised, grey ones. He knew what she was doing, but he made no move to stop her. He understood, as much as she did. And when their lips met in the briefest of kisses, their hearts swelled with joy in that instant. It was gone as soon as they pulled away, but they'd had just the tiniest taste of what might have been; what could have been, had circumstances been different. But in the years to come, both of them would say that this fraction of a second had been enough.

Murtagh turned without another word, and he gave her just one last look before leaving her rooms forever, a small smile on his face. Then the door closed, and he was gone. She couldn't even hear his footsteps retreating down the hallway; it was as if he'd never been there at all. But the feeling of his lips lingering on hers told the truth.

She turned back to the window where it still stood open, letting the cool breeze and the cold rain wash over her skin. Closing her eyes, she reveled in the quiet for a moment, the only sound the pitter-patter of the rain. Murtagh had spoken of her strength, and all it had inspired in him, but she couldn't help feeling suddenly very fragile. Two years worth of questions had finally been answered, and it had left her shaking. But tomorrow, she would awake strong once more. Any rebellions would be crushed, and any rumors put to rest.

And the rain would fall on and on.

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 _THE END_

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 **Thank you all for reading. Hope you enjoyed. For all you diehard MxN shippers out there, if you have any questions as to my reasoning behind some of the decisions I made, please feel free to ask. But no flames, please. Reviews are welcome and appreciated!**


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